Story:Nobody's Safety Guaranteed/Intermission 2
You do not recognise anything that You see. The floor has never been like this, so uneven, with too many colours so that You cannot name it – is it black or brown or tan or grey? There is light, but it is warm. The ceiling is blue. The floor has water, as if it’s a bath. You want to panic, You want to find Deng, but You cannot even move your head. Anxiety is bubbling within You, but something is holding it down, suffocating your feelings in a blanket of calm. To your horror, your hands dip down into the water. Now that You are focusing on it, You have to wonder if it’s even water. It feels warm and cool both at once, and slick and sticky, and it smells like the seashell Deng loves and there are moving things in it. How could You not have noticed? You really are stupid, no matter what Deng tells You. There are all these things – animals? Plants? – that You recognise from Deng’s descriptions. Things with shells, but smaller and moving, leaving tiny trails behind them. Strings of green stuff, waving gently in the water as You swirl your hand in it. When one brushes your hand, You bite back a gasp internally. Slimy. Nothing has ever felt slimy before. Whoever is driving the body doesn’t seem to care. Your hand reaches out to brush the bottom of the pool. It feels rough, as if covered in powder, and You wonder at how You can keep on moving without stopping to marvel at it, and You think of those books with swatches of textiles that Deng has given you to learn about all the textures of the world, and how different, how incomparable the world actually is and- Your eyes found it before your mind could catch up. Something hard, with too many legs, purple and white with speckles on its round back, and it’s looking at You. The little black eyes are on stalks, but they seem to be staring right into your own. All You want to do is look at them. The front legs of the thing fidget, waving in the air, and a bubble of laughter erupts from You uncontrollably. Without thinking, your hand stretches towards it. Snick. Such a little noise shouldn’t create so much pain. You shriek, falling backwards away from the water. Your finger feels like it’s on fire, but You don’t dare put your hand back in the water, even if that evil thing has scuttled away. Without even realising it, You have burst into tears. They stream down your face as You run to safety. Safety? a small voice inside You says. It sounds like your own, but before You can process it, You have run straight into the arms of safety and the voice that blubbers out must be the real You. “Mum, a crab bit me! It hurts so much. Is it bleeding? I need a bandaid.” The last words trail off into sobs again. And this must be right, because even with the throbbing pain in your finger, even though nothing has changed except a hug, You feel as if you are wrapped in the warmth of security. Safe. “Let me have a look, dear.” Mum takes your hand and tenderly unfolds the clenched fist. “No bleeding. Just a bit red.” She kisses the finger. “There. All better.” Not at all! You think, but somehow, You are mollified. “What’s happened here, hm?” Without warning, You feel yourself being lifted into the air. To your surprise, You laugh again. The ache in your finger is nearly forgotten. “Someone decided to poke a crab,” Mum says, laughing. “That explains it. I found a crab with half a finger in its claws and was wondering…” Dad grins and swings you up onto his shoulder. “No worries, little man. I ate it.” “The finger or the crab?” Mum asks. “Both!” “Da-''aad'',” You groan, drawing out the second syllable. You shriek it again as he starts moving back towards the tidal pools. “Dad! No! Not back there. I’m scared.” “I already showed it who’s boss. Nothing to be scared of.” “Nooooooo.” But as much as You wriggle, You can’t break free. The three of you make your way to the pools again. Your eyes widen as You approach the one with the offending crab, but thankfully, You pass it. Despite your squirming before, You try to cling to your father when he sets you down. “No!” “Here,” Mum says, so gently that You can’t help but turn to look at what she is offering You. Dad deposits You on the ground, and You don’t even notice, eyes fixed on the star in your mother’s hand. “Starfish!” your mouth exclaims, even as the little voice inside You asks what it is. Mum proffers it to You, and your hands reach out to gingerly accept, torn between curiosity and apprehension. She places it upside-down in your hand. You have never seen anything so horrifying. The other You, the one who talks with the lower voice, is nothing but excited. That You points at the tiny sucker feet, at the little circle in the centre that Dad says is the mouth. That You glances up briefly to grin at both parents, but only briefly, because the starfish is questing out with its feet and is going to flip. When You wake, You share the other You’s fading happiness. “Deng?” You ask. You are alone. After the vivid blues of the seashore, your room feels so dull. As if the walls were made of grey, not white. You slip out of your bed. The tiles are cool and utterly smooth beneath your bare feet – so they will never hurt you, Deng had said with a smile. So unlike the roughness of rock in that too-clear dream. Deng is in the next room, writing in a book. You have looked over her shoulder, sometimes, when she writes. Always the text is tiny, cramped, with words far too long for You to make out. One day, perhaps, Deng will teach You. Perhaps You will become a scientist like her. She looks up as soon as You enter, as if she always knows where You are. “You’re awake already? What’s up, You?” There are so many questions You want to ask. Are dreams always like this? It’s the first one you’ve ever had, but that must be what it is – that’s how Deng describes her dreams. Could You look at the shell again, to compare? What’s a crab? What’s a starfish. What comes out instead is a blurted, “Are you my parent?” Deng looks at You for a moment with widened eyes, for a moment so taken aback that she cannot even reply. Immediately, You want to apologise for asking such a stupid question, but she relaxes into a gentle smile. “Of course, silly.” Ah. That makes sense. No wonder Deng was surprised, that You asked a question with so obvious an answer. You smile at her sheepishly, hoping to be forgiven, hoping that Deng will not be sad, and she immediately ruffles your hair. It makes You happy, just like being in Mum’s arms in your dream, so you dare to ask, “Deng, will you hug me?” “A hug?” Immediately, Deng’s face shifts into concern. “What’s gotten into You?” It all comes out in a babbling fountain. The dream, the rockpools, the other You, the parents, the starfish, even the crab. Deng sits back, seemingly stunned, as a bigger and bigger smile crosses her face. Encouraged, You start the story all over again, going over the best parts. Halfway through your second retelling, Deng puts her arms around you and lifts you into the air. Her arms are nothing like the father in your dream; they are thin and almost as pale as your own, but she lifts You nonetheless. You can see her straining to do it, a little breathless, and your heart is fluttering in your chest. She’s never carried You like this, unless You were too small to remember. “I’m so glad,” she says, pulling you closer. “So glad that you’re having these dreams.” “They’re good, then?” “Yes. You are having them because You are very, very special. I’m so proud of You.” “Am I going to have more?” She gives You a soft kiss on the top of your head. “I know You will.” |}